How You Can Tell
by jaydream
Summary: *Black and neon orange Tripp pants. That's how you can tell.* Oneshot Cindy's POV COMPLETED


**It's been a while since I wrote a JN. Which is where I started in fanfiction alongside Danny. But I read a story and I had a rotten Cindy day so I thought I would just do this.**

**Title: **_How You Can Tell_

**Genre: **_Drama/Angst_

**Rating: **_T_

**Characters: **_Cindy Vortex, mentions of Libby Folfax and Sheen Estevez_

**Note: **_Cindy's POV which is basically my POV_

* * *

**How You Can Tell**

Sometimes in the tone. Sometimes in the way maybe I didn't talk. Most of the time you could just _tell_ when I was in a downright depressing mood. When the best thing to do for anyone was just to not talk. Or distract me. But sometimes even then that could prove to be the wrong thing to do. Sometimes it didn't work.

There were lots of ways to tell when I wasn't having a particularly good day or week...or month. I would always wear my Tripp pants. You know, those black ones with the chains and straps you bought at Hot Topic? I have a black and neon orange pair. I would wear them whenever I was feeling especially dark and moody. Which was more often than not.

Of course Libby knew that most. Better than anybody. When I put on those pants and just seemed like I was in a mood whether it be by my expressions or texts, she would know. Most of the time I didn't want to bring any of it up. Why? She's heard it a million billion times before. About the problems in my life. It wasn't different, it wasn't a different song she could listen to and like. It was like playing one song on your favorite CD on repeat for years. It wasn't changing. And I was sure that she was getting tired of hearing the same song again and again. I know I would.

What sucked worse was that nobody else would listen to me. Nobody but Libby and if I couldn't tell _her_ anything, I was pretty much lost on my own. And more often than not I chose that. Just go it alone and act like everything's okay. Like the world was a place I wanted to be. Fat lie all on it's own.

You know how you have that one song you just discovered and will play it on repeat for weeks, sometimes months, because it just fits you? I do that a lot. Especially if I find a song that will fit a certain part of my life or mood at a present moment. Sometimes I would get three songs at once and I would love how perfectly they synched together. Then I would feel better. That and having Libby text me until ungodly hours of the day even though we both had school the next day. They were distractions. My life. My distractions. I loved distractions. However, it hurt when the distractions ended and I got front ended by the Wall of Reality. I'm tired of listening to people telling me to get out of my fantasy world and face reality when reality is far worse than being caught in my fantasies. If anything my fantasy world helps me unwind and relax. Sometimes it would even break me of whatever mood I was in or what the day happened to be like. Let me be where I want to be when I want to be. It's the only way for me to get a hold of things. It's the only way I'm still here.

There are a lot of ways to tell how I'm feeling. Anyone with half a brain would be able to look at me once and know that I was either in a Pissed-Look-Out-Hurricane-Cindy mood or if I was in a mellow, somehow nice mood. Nobody was an idiot to me, not even Sheen. And that surprised me since the boy missed half of what happens in school. Even Sheen knew me. And I was, shockingly, lucky for that because he would be the first to alert Libby if I hadn't seen or talked to her yet. I hate to admit it, but I'm glad Sheen can tell the difference between me being fine and not. It was a good thing to have.

It's not that I don't know what I want to do in life. It's not even that I don't care. It's getting there that ruins me. It's barely treading water that's going right over my head, begging to drown me that does it. Everything that will just clamor at once and try to overrun me. But I take control. I get help, sure, but that's not a bad thing. I make it, don't I? Just barely, but I make it. I try. I keep going. I do whatever I can to make sure that I don't drown. Because if I drown, who knows what can or will happen.

Black and neon orange Tripp pants.

That's how you can tell.

* * *

**It was MEANT TO BE SHORT! LOL Uh huh basically me, just in Cindy form.**

**Jay**


End file.
